


Strong verbs, short sentences

by Janus_my



Category: Chernobyl (TV 2019)
Genre: M/M, Memories, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-06
Updated: 2019-06-06
Packaged: 2020-04-11 16:09:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19113148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Janus_my/pseuds/Janus_my
Summary: “We should count time by heart-throbs. He most lives who thinks most, feels the noblest, acts the best.”





	Strong verbs, short sentences

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hannibra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hannibra/gifts).



> This is again a rushed work and a long drabble. Apologies in advance for any potential timeline confusion as this work consists mainly of recollections. (And probably the finale has broken my heart that I am not well-functioning enough to set timelines right :')
> 
> I am not writing in my native language so please do point out any mistakes.

 

Strong verbs, short sentences. 

That’s what Boris Shcherbina has always believed. 

He actually does not even talk that much. He is the sort of men who work behind the scenes. A reliable man. If you can get things done, you get it done. No need for a grande Churchillian speech every time. When he does speak, he gives orders, or takes them. That’s why he speaks in a rather Spartan way. No open-ended questions, no room for doubts, no lingering implications. 

You get an order. And you move around to execute it. Period. That’s what you signed up for. Boris Shcherbina is a pragmatic man. 

His principal private secretary recalls that when the deputy chairman got the call summoning him to Kremlin for an accident in Chernobyl, comrade Shcherbina simply demanded a brief (with a gesture, no words spoken), read the brief, and left for Kremlin. 

Valery Legasov is the kind of person who speaks in complete paragraphs. If you close your eyes and listen to him, you would even see footnotes to those paragraphs. Perhaps a bibliography with appendix 1-10 enclosed as well. 

And he is very readable. With his thoughts and emotions written all over his face. Plain like an open book, full of scientific details, honest principles and academic integrity. A bit of a blue-sky thinker, even. Years of scientific training and experiences as a scientific high-flyer has made Valery Legasov a dogmatic man. 

Boris Shcherbina wondered why nobody had thought about clipping the wings of this academic high-flyer. Especially when Legasov showered him with full blocs of mind-boggling nuclear physics jargons, in Legasov’s innocent condescending way. Boris thought about dumping this messy man, together with his heavy spectacles straight out of the helicopter. But he gritted his teeth, clenched his fists and told himself, you need this man to get things done. 

And he listened to Legasov. He might not be a stellar nuclear scientist, but he was not stupid. If years of navigating the rough waters of Kremlin had taught him something, it is that sometimes listening (and seasoned with a little hectoring at the right time) gets you go a long way. 

Listening to Legasov when he is in his natural territory of nuclear physics was in fact quite enjoyable. Boris did not have a degree in nuclear physics, but he figured that Legasov has his way of explaining nuclear reactors. Decades spent in Kremlin had left him memories of numerous apparatchiks rambling for over thirty minutes before they realized they had gotten the wrong speech. Legasov was not one of those men. The academician visibly lightened up when he was in his comfort zone of nuclear science, and almost stumbled his way out of the helicopter. Boris lent a hand to stable the clumsy professor. What an odd man, Boris thought. 

Boris realized that Legasov clearly thought he understands nothing, when the professor pointed out that they were not getting the same lunar rovers that landed on the moon. Boris had stared at that serious face and decided to retreat. Legasov is a blunt-talking idiot, but he is also Boris’s leading scientist. And Boris can’t do this without him. Neither of them can do this without each other.

 

* * *

 

They had a clear division of labor. And this division exhibited itself vividly in their trailer at Pripyat. Legasov was the one with ideas, the one who occasionally raised his head behind piles of scratch paper and charts. He was always surrounded by an unpleasant fog of smoke, a secluded sanctuary of logic and numbers away from the mayhem outside. Boris, sitting across Legasov, was the person who made all the calls. His chief nuclear scientist mumbled long sentences to him, something entailed boron, sandbags and lead. Boris had developed the ability to mentally prepare an abstract of Legasov’s lengthy speech, and the determination to dial all the numbers on his phonebook to set the wheels in motion. He hectored, bullied and drove everyone around like cattle. They were very different men, and quite an odd pair, but they managed to pull everything together. They endured. 

Boris knew this was nothing he had ever done before, never in this scale. But he led whole the cleanup procedure anyway. He thought to himself that this was another mission, and by the time the sarcophagus had started to be built he thought this midsummer nightmare of Pripyat was finally coming to an end. Legasov and him had paid a high price, their lives even, to end this dream. At last it was over. 

He brought a bottle of vodka to his nuclear scientist. It was foolish to celebrate Chernobyl, but he thought a few drinks for their work were worthwhile. Legasov was in his hotel room smoking, surprisingly quiet. Boris made a joke about a cat caught his tongue, but telling jokes was never his strength. So the two men sat there in silence, each with a vodka glass in hand.  

“They have asked us to go to Vienna, the IAEA meeting.” Legasov spoke in a hoarse voice, grimly. Short sentences. That’s something new, Boris thought. He responded nothing. But Legasov was not the type of man who would tolerate silence. “I knew what caused the blowup. We all knew. The positive void coefficients in RBMK reactors, the control pods, and people who ignored safety procedures…” Here we go again, long speeches full of ticking bombs. Boris cut Legasov short. “And you will only talk about the last one. Personnel mistakes.”

Legasov stared at him through the heavy glasses. Valery looked tired in his wrinkled shirt, a burn-out man struggling between his conscience and his country. Boris heard about a joke long ago, saying that the two things a Soviet cannot have together are himself and his country. Valery was standing right between these two things. And he was quiet. Boris wondered where did his loquacious scientist go. 

He sighed, rubbing his forehead in dismay. “Valery, tell the truth that is necessary. And keep a lid on things preventing us to proceed.” He found that he couldn’t simply give Spartan-like orders to Legasov. Valery Legasov was a man of logic and reason. To persuade him you need stance, arguments, and evidence. “Valera, you have to lie to make things happen. But I will see to it that improvements be made. We will strike a deal with the KGB. We do our job, they do theirs.” 

 Legasov raised a perfect eyebrow and didn’t look convinced. So Boris added. “Valera, listen… A martyr wouldn’t help anything. We will get back safely. And Soviet nuclear industry needs you alive to supervise the reactor improvements.” This was a long speech comparing to his usual ones. So Boris stopped there and skipped the last sentence that he, Boris Shcherbina himself, needed and wanted his nuclear scientist to be alive. They are all down in this foxhole together. Real comradeship, Shcherbina thought. 

 

 

* * *

 

The Vienna meeting went well. In a Soviet standard. Nothing unnecessary was uttered, not a word. Soviets were happy, so were the western world as they thought finally someone had spoken the truth. Everyone was satisfied. 

Except for Professor Legasov. He was unusually quiet and shut himself away from any visitor, Boris included. The academician avoided his deputy chairman the whole plane journey back to Moscow, gazing at the endless plain of clouds outside of the windows. His gaze was blank and aimless, as if he had again wandered into his very own world. 

Boris didn’t think too much of it then. He was deep down, slightly pleased that Legasov had learnt a little about when to keep quiet. This might be against Legasov’s nature, but it would certainly do him no harm. Boris couldn’t be the firefighter every time when his nuclear scientist’s outspoken nature had infuriated party members high up the ladder. The few meetings he went together with Legasov could be described as “frank, bordering on direct”. This means Boris was left to mop up the blood on the floor of Kremlin afterwards. 

Heck, Legasov would not even be his nuclear scientist any more as their mission was over. He and Legasov would part from here, go on their separate paths and leave Chernobyl behind them. After all, no one would even tell a joke starting with “a nuclear scientist and a career party man walked into a bar”… This wouldn’t be a good joke even in Soviet standards. Thisending would be a relief for Boris a few months ago, but now he was feeling a slight unease. Must be motion sickness, he thought. The silly bugger in the cockpit just didn’t know how to fly a plane. 

 

* * *

 

He was very wrong. About everything. First was that he got a notice requiring his attendance to the trial for Dyatlov, Fomin and Bryukhanov. He wondered whether this is some kind of test on loyalty, as the trial should be nothing more than a showcase. Second was that he heard (through his carefully groomed grapevine inside Kremlin and Lubyanka) that Legasov was also requested to attend. Third was that their plane trip back to Moscow was not the last time he saw Legasov. Valery was a startled disheveled drunken mess when Boris knocked on his apartment door in Moscow. 

Spring was the best season in Moscow. River breezes in the crisp morning air reminded you of life, the promise of upcoming blossoms, of future and hope. The way morning sun shined on the water as if the whole river was plated in gold. But Legasov’s apartment windows were tightly shut. Boris can barely see tiles of the room, as they were covered with documents and cigarette butts. Legasov had decided to lock himself in the eternality of harsh winters. 

Boris picked up something on the floor. It took him a while to read as the paper was crumbled and tossed away into the far corner of the room. It was a proposal, about further studies into improvement on usage of RBMK reactors and suggested safety enhancements. It was long, in multiple bullet points and with charts attached. Very Valery, Boris thought. 

“It doesn’t matter any more.” Valery’s voice interrupted Boris’s effort of self-studying nuclear physics. “I submitted the proposal almost three months ago. And they got back to me yesterday saying we are shorthanded to conduct such a large scale study. And they asked me to provide justification on correcting design flaws of Soviet nuclear reactors. They said, Soviet reactors do not have design flaws.” Valery’s eyes were red when he finished the vodka in his glass. “It has been almost a year, Boris. You know the number of RBMK reactors went through improvement? Z-E-R-O.” 

“Sit down, Valery.” Boris lent a hand and pressed Valery into the chair. He then turned to open the windows. Cool evening air swept in and dispersed the smoke.He was about to start his speech (a long one, you need a long speech to lecture someone as headstrong as Valery) about things were improving, just in a gradual way. It is Soviet Union we are talking about, he thought. And even Rome isn’t built in one day. 

But the scientist, as if had been woken up by the fresh air, raised his head and blinked his pale blue eyes. He spoke softly. “Boris, they had taken my name off the list. The candidate list for the next chairman of Kurchatov Institute.” The first deputy director for scientific work at Kurchatov Institute stared at Boris. His eyes had lost the glimmering light when Boris first met him. “Oh no, they voted me out, by a margin of 29 votes. I tried to talk to people, but they either turned me down or gave me excuses. Nobody is interested in a horrendous accident. Especially the brutal truth of it.” 

Boris had thought, naively, that the summer of Chernobyl had come to an end. Something has come to an end. Not Chernobyl, exactly. Just Valery Legasov, his work, his credit, and his whole scientific career. His dogmatic nuclear scientist was gone. Boris found he rather missed that person. 

Valery hunched towards the table like a stray cat just been kicked and was in great pain. “I thought scientists would be different… I thought we have a purpose. We did our work for the improvement of human life, for the happiness of mankind…Then my own colleagues turned against me and crossed out my name forever, unanimously, because some of them couldn’t afford to be associated with flawed RBMK reactors. You know what? They called me a disgrace, a black sheep.” 

Boris had an urge to pat Valery on the back, but he couldn’t bring himself to say things such as “everything is fine” or “it will pass”. Nothing is fine, and none of this will pass. He wanted to barge into the front door of Kurchatov Institute and throw ten telephone sets on those bastards’ faces. But he ended up just putting his hand on Valery’s shoulder.

Valery looked up from the table, into the window where velvet night sky unfolded before them. It was a moonless light, with stars hang high above them. They stayed in silence for a while. When Valery finally spoke, he sounded like he was sorting from distant memories. “Boris, do you remember the time you got your first dictionary?”

Boris scratched his head for a moment and admitted he didn’t. He was never someone keen on words. Not to mention a conglomeration of words like dictionaries. Valery gave him a weary smile. “I got my first dictionary when I was four.” Bright little brat, Boris made a mental comment. 

“I was fascinated. That small dictionary seems to have the whole universe in it. Not just the scientific one, but the humane one as well. It is like a manual, summarizing our knowledge, experiences and emotions.” Valery wanted to pour himself another vodka, but was given a glass of water by Boris. So he drank the water and continued.

“I have thought, to work in the scientific field is like writing a dictionary. We figured out what different word means, and we documented the meanings for future generation’s consumption. So that our dictionary can save people from repetition of mistakes, to help them understand the meaning of things in their lives, and to stay away from old traps.” He paused there, studied the glass in his hand for a moment. “And if someone has fallen into old traps, it is our job to liberate them from futile struggles, and to give them the freedom in learning the circumstances they are in.” 

“We had all dedicated our lives to the word Chernobyl. Yet it is an empty entry in the dictionary. I want people to know what Chernobyl means, what happened there, and how to save some other people, some other city, from repetition of old mistakes. It trapped us once, but it should trap us no more.” 

Boris saw the glimmering light returning to his nuclear scientist, manifesting itself in the usual Valery-style almost-poetic long sentences. He himself was never an eloquent speaker, but he certainly knew one sitting next to him. This hopeless romantic optimist may never succeed in his lone endeavors, but Boris knew this man will spare no effort as long as he can save a single child, a drafted soldier, or a young husband. 

To hell with unanimity. To hell with this spiral of silence. Boris Shcherbina was a realist. And realists were perfect aids for idealists.

 

 

* * *

 

Shcherbina and Legasov occupied two far ends of the back seats in their car to the town of Chernobyl. The professor was studying door handle contemplatively, while the first deputy chairman was looking at stretching forests outside. 

The skyline was filled with lush green. It must have taken decades, centuries even, for trees to grow into this extending forest in front of him. Thousands of people had passed away since the April of 1986, and more will follow in future. But the trees will still be here, stood in silence, in their utter indifference to the fate of people and the fate of this land. Nobody will know what kind of secrets and lies were buried in the ground that trees had rooted in. 

Boris thought of himself. Career party men like him grew like great oak trees. They grow slowly, taking in many lies and half-truths in the course, and eventually learnt to be indifferent and stand for some faith that doesn’t believe in itself. Silences replace the truth, and become lies themselves. 

He remembered himself, as green and naive as a young man, had doubts about the whole system. But along the way he had abandoned these thoughts. At first he entertained his doubts and decided not to do anything. Then he stopped to think about the ideas altogether. It was a painful and undignified process, noticing how you went down the road of obedience and silence. It did not happen overnight, but once he had taken the first step, the next step was easier. 

Changes, to him, was almost like a slowly unwinding hot summer night. You gradually lost your sight to the night, and you lost yourself in the numbing summer heat. 

But Valery Legasov was like a lightning in Boris’s long silent summer night. The blue-eyed nuclear scientist, together with those lengthy academic speeches, bursted into his life like an isolated thunderstorm, breaking his comfortable silence and leaving himself shattered in pieces. 

  

* * *

  

Before the judge and jury, Boris testified. He had others to prepare a model of the nuclear reactor for him. To cut short the technical details, he thought, as that was Valery’s job. What he needed was rhetoric. Judges might not understand nuclear reactors, but they knew how the personnel rushed through procedures for honors. This is the language they speak. Experienced career party men knew when to pause, when to emphasize, and when to resonate. Experienced career party men like him also knew how to leverage years of experience in dealing with apparatchiks. By knowing them, by measuring them, and by exploiting them, he was victorious. 

The court paid full attention to Valery’s little plastic red and blue cards. This man was a born academician, and a terrific lecturer. Boris saw why the state and KGB insisted on holding a tight grip on Valery., as his nuclear scientist had the ability to dump critical facts like a grenade with its pin taken out. He wished he could stay in the room to hear it all, but violent coughing forced him to leave the session early. 

He went out and sat down on a stone bench next to the forests outside. Soft rays of the sun shined on green tree tops. Valery came out and sat besides him. Now the sun shined on the two men sitting together, on the town of Chernobyl, but not on everyone. The sun ceased to shine on the hundreds of people died in the spring last year. They lied motionless in silence, in darkness, under deep layers of cold cement. And Boris knew he would join them very soon.

“I am an inconsequential man, Valera.” Probably looming death makes people pathetic sentimentalists. Boris found himself talking about Jews and Poles, and how people didn’t care until fate strikes back in full circle. He had adopted Valery’s habit of long babbling before coming to this painful conclusion. Valery stared at him with those sharp blue eyes. Professor Legasov had eyes of a scientist, naive yet penetrating. “They mistakenly sent the one good man. For God’s sake, Boris. You are the man who matters the most.” He heard Valery. It was rare for Valery to say things other than abrasive ones, but he believed it was genuine. His clock was ticking, and Boris wished he had fought further, pushed harder, and acted better. 

He didn’t know exactly how long he still has. But there is still time. Boris Shcherbina is a pragmatic man. He lives in deeds, not years or figures on a dial. When he sets his mind, he would seize every chance to make things happen. 

So when Valery was forced to end his testimony, Boris heard himself yelling, at the top of his voice yet in calm, “Let him finish.” Strong verbs, short sentences. Always worked. 

He felt he lived in that one minute more than in his past years combined. 

Valery turned and looked at him. His blue eyes lightened up. Boris knew that light. That was the sign of his familiar starry-eyed scientist, about to give out every fact he knew based solely on conscience. And Valery dashed off with his sonnet on design flaws of reactors, of cheap substandard materials, and of the Soviet state, with a rhyme of truth and integrity. 

The crowd was whispering. But Shcherbina was thinking about the little caterpillar on his palm just now. It was tiny, but it wiggled with such vigor and strength. Life will carry on here, so will truth. Truth will prevail. It burns bright through the veil of lies, like the shining blue light high into the sky on reactor No.4.  

It is beautiful, Shcherbina thought. 

**Author's Note:**

> This was actually inspired by my discussion with friend how Boris and Valery speak in very different styles. And the discussion morphed itself into this behemoth of babbling. 
> 
> Thanks for reading through (and sorry for breaking hearts (if any)).


End file.
